


Grave Dirt

by Hyacinthus



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-07
Updated: 2019-11-07
Packaged: 2021-01-02 16:47:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21164882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hyacinthus/pseuds/Hyacinthus
Summary: The aftermath of a battle fills Dimitri with questions.





	Grave Dirt

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NightsMistress](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NightsMistress/gifts).

They came from the mist to surround him. Their faces blurred in the dull light, obscuring features and leaving only outstretched arms, reaching hands, a garden of fingers. Writhing, transmuting into a pile of worms, crawling through their bones. Their eye sockets were framed in pink and their new wriggling tongues spilt curses upon his name. 

He scrabbled desperately on the cold earth, grave dirt and rot rooted under his fingernails. They would be upon him soon, as they were every night with their questing fingers and accusing bones. He could not run, could not fight. He could only watch through his one good eye as they closed ranks, a perfect circle around him. A cool hand grasped his shoulder. The flesh, desiccated and pitted, moved to grasp his chin, forcing his face skyward. 

He looked up at his father’s face. Worms crawled from Lambert’s eyes. There was a rush of rotten air as long-dead lungs tried to speak, the sunken mouth opening like a tomb. Every night the accusations came anew. 

He felt a maggot slip from his own empty eye, and distantly, there was a scream.

The next moments still felt a dream, even as he sprang from his bed to greet a frantic messenger. The scream was Sylvain’s, warning them from his position on the night watch. Dimitri pulled his armor on hurriedly, buckling with long practice. Last piece in place and Areadbhar in hand, he rushed from his tent. 

The battlefield, shrouded in fog, was illuminated by flickers of torches and magelight. Dimitri shook off the clinging remnants of his dream. This was real, and he had people to protect. There were glimpses of his friends - Felix, drawing his sword out of the body of an Imperial soldier; Dedue shielding Annette, the glow of her enemy-aimed fire shining off his armor. 

There, a figure running towards him - Dimitri tightened his grip, loosening his fingers when he heard Byleth’s voice. “They’re Imperial troops. We think Edelgard ordered them to stay behind for an ambush after the empire drew back from Derdriu.”

Dimitri dipped his head at Byleth, eye scanning for enemies. “How many?”

“Not more than thirty here. Gilbert led a contingent to draw some off.” 

“Thank you.” Byleth nodded in acknowledgment and melted back into the fog, hand on the Creator’s Sword. 

Report received, Dimitri moved swiftly through the fog. Areadbhar tore into the soft bellies and throats of any Imperial soldier foolish or unlucky enough to be in his way. When he was satisfied the area was clear, he listened for the sounds of his friends. There - Ingrid’s battle cry to his left, Mercedes’ distant cry to the south. Was she hurt? His fingers tightened around his lance. The need to help was all-consuming. He moved forward towards the sound, blood rushing into his ears. Nothing touched his senses until the sting of cold steel shoved into his back. An arm wrapped around his neck, squeezing, as the Imperial soldier withdrew the dagger for another attempt.

“For the glory of Emperor Edelgard,” the woman hissed into his ear. Dimitri swung with his free hand, catching her on the cheek. He felt her cheekbone cave. She crumpled into the mud and did not rise. 

His hand came away sticky with blood after he felt his back. The pain did not come. There was no time - he had to make it to Mercedes. Five years ago it had been worse than this. He could fight still. Grimacing, he ran towards the direction of Mercedes’ voice. 

The moonlight glinted off her blonde hair. She was crouched, bent over. “Mercedes!” Nothing could happen to one of his friends - Goddess, please - she looked up. 

“Dimitri?” He stopped. Looked down to see what she was crouching over - one of their men. Dead, if Dimitri’s judgment was good. His eyes had been closed.

“I was praying to the goddess for him.” Mercedes looked him up and down. “Dimitri, are you hurt?”

“No. Is it over?” One stab wound wasn’t injured, not when Mercedes undoubtedly had more urgent cases to attend to. It was delegation, not a lie, he told himself. When everyone else had been treated, he would speak up.

“Yes. Felix and Sylvain volunteered to go after any stragglers.” 

“Good.” With the news of the end of the battle, a wave of pain shook Dimitri. He clenched his teeth, willing the throb away. Together they trudged back to camp, cold mud squelching underneath their boots. He could feel Mercedes’ watchful gaze assessing him. The wound in his back was a twist of fire, jumping with every jarring step. 

The outskirts of camp weren’t far. He could sit and breathe there. Sit, breathe, take stock of his people. All this for his people. One more step. Another, and the mantra rattled in his lungs with every breath. _All for them. All for them. All for -_ His foot came down upon a rock. The impact made his back scream. He staggered to one knee and fell. 

Manuela’s infirmary ceiling greeted him when he opened his eyes. He squinted against the light, feeling crusty sleep around his lashes. His mouth tasted like the rotten rats he’d once dined upon. He swallowed, trying to get saliva to counteract the dryness. Huffs of breath to draw the air back into his lungs. 

Quick, purposeful footsteps headed towards him. Mercedes’ wan face appeared above him, but her eyes brightened when she saw him. “Dimitri! You’re finally awake.” She moved around him, clever eyes checking his condition. 

Dimitri swallowed again, working up to speaking. “The battle.” 

Mercedes frowned at him. “Everyone is okay but you.” Her face softened as she took in his reaction. He fell apart like a puppet with its strings cut, muscles slack and mouth hung slightly open in relief. 

“We had to fly you back here. Strapped you right on the back of Ingrid’s pegasus. He was so mad, but she told him she would give him lots of sugar cubes if he did it.” Mercedes put her hand in front of her mouth, the way she always did when she smiled and didn’t want anyone else to know. It never worked. The corners of her cheeks turned up, wider than her fingers could cover.

Dimitri managed a weak smile back, and was rewarded with Mercedes’ full glowing smile. “It would have been better if you’d told me you were hurt,” she said, feeling his forehead with the back of her hand. “The dagger nicked your kidney and you lost a lot of blood, but Manuela and I were able to fix you up.” 

Dimitri worried his bottom lip between his teeth, thinking his reply through. “I couldn’t. Not until I knew everyone else was okay.” 

Mercedes took his hand, holding it between her own. “Dimitri... if we aren’t okay, it’s only because we were worrying for you. Everyone has visited while you were out. If this happens again, please let me know so I can heal you.”

Dimitri looked down to his blanket-covered feet. He had seen people in the infirmary before; they looked very small, like being injured had taken some part of them away. If he looked like that, then maybe he understood. He squeezed Mercedes’ hand once. “I will, Mercedes.” 

The look on her face was worth not knowing if he had told the truth, he thought, as she squeezed back before Manuela’s yell drew her away. 

Two days later, after an afternoon full of poking and prodding, they declared him well enough to go back to light duties and his own bed. His armor gleamed from its spot, free of mud and rust. Dedue’s doing, no doubt - he would have to thank him. Dimitri stared into space, staggered the four steps to his bed, and was asleep before his head hit the pillow. 

He woke up disoriented, gasping for lungfuls of air. They had buried him, dragged him down to a pre-made grave. He was paralyzed as clumps of dirt landed on his face, in his eyelashes and mouth. As he ran his tongue over his teeth, he could taste it still. 

The moon was high in the sky as he left his room, with its cloying air and collapsing walls. The shock of cold air on his skin was welcome. It bit into his lungs as he took a deep breath, watching the exhale turn to a fleeting cloud. His back ached; he could feel the delicate, magically repaired skin pulling as he shifted. But these little hurts were easier to bear than his nightmares. 

Before the last clump of dirt hit his skin, it had not been his father, nor Rodrigue, that crowded around his grave. It had been Dedue, Felix, Mercedes, Ingrid, Byleth, Annette, Sylvain, Ashe, their faces marked with concern and grief. His friends and allies, the people he depended on and who depended on him. I’m alive, he wanted to scream at them, but his throat would not open. 

Is that how they had felt when he had collapsed? He pictured any of them in his stead, the open horror that would eclipse his features. Yes, Dimitri knew. It had been. 

Perhaps his answer to Mercedes had not been a lie after all.


End file.
